


No Turning Back Now

by reiley



Category: Queer as Folk (UK)
Genre: Coda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reiley/pseuds/reiley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuart and Vince leave Manchester. Together.</p><p>(Takes place between leaving Manchester and the last scene in the series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

On the road. Silence from the passenger seat, but Stuart knows what Vince is thinking. If he even opens his mouth…

"Stuart—"

"Don't."

"But—"

"No, Vince. All or nothing. We have a deal." Stuart doesn't even look at him; hands on the wheel, eyes on the road.

Mouth open, Vince holds back his sigh. He knows he has about half a second to get this across, so he just blurts, "Passport."

Grinning to himself, Stuart reaches into his jacket and pulls out two booklets and hands them to Vince.

Vince studies both passports for a moment. He looks back to Stuart. "Money." But he gets a withering stare in response. "Fine. But I've no clothes with me. Just this suit," he states, plucking at the fabric.

"I like that suit."

"You should. You got it for me." Before the sentence is out of Vince's mouth, Stuart reaches back behind the passenger seat of the Jeep and drops a duffel bag into Vince's lap.

"That's enough clothes for a while. It's everything decent you had in your closet. We are going shopping when we get to London. No arguments."

Saving that for another time, Vince simply asks, "How did you…"

"I swung by yours after you'd left for work. I wasn't sure… Thought you might try to stop me. I wasn't going to stay, Vince."

"I know." Vince looks down into the bag in his lap. "But you thought I'd come with you?"

Stuart is silent for a long time. Staring out, face turned away from Vince, he tries to shrug. "Hoped you would." Clearing his throat, his face changes and he turns that grin on. "Anything else?"

"Nope. Guess this is it. Should ring Hazel, though. Make sure she's alright. Don't know how she'll get out of that one…" Vince's voice trails off as he rummages through the bag that was packed for him. "Stuart! You forgot underwear!"

The grin turns up a notch and Stuart merely waggles his eyebrows.

\-----

"Wow. Posh room." Vince stares around while Stuart "tips" the bellboy. It's not just a room. It's a whole suite. He wanders through to the bedroom, leaving the young, unsuspecting bellboy in Stuart's care. Vince hasn't a clue how he's going to deal with that everywhere they go. Always. Day in, day out. Won't be the same as before, when he could just go home. Now he's stuck. Watching Stuart for the rest of his life.

Maybe this was a mistake.

A moment later, warm arms snake around Vince's middle and he feels Stuart's hot breath on his neck. "It's nothing but the best for us, Vince. You like the room?"

"Yeah, 's brilliant, Stuart. But…" Catching Stuart's eye, Vince bites his tongue. Money has always been an issue between them, but Vince knows better than to bring it up. Don't want to spoil the whole trip first thing. "But what'll we do?"

"Well," Stuart purrs in his ear, his hands wandering lower and lower, smoothing down the fabric of Vince's trousers and back up to the buckle of his belt.

Vince catches his hands, laughing nervously. "What? Didn't get enough from him?" He extricates himself from Stuart's arms and starts to move away.

But Stuart catches his wrist and pulls him back. "Vince."

One word. And that look. Those eyes, burning through him.

"Stuart… don't."

"This is it, Vince."

"No. It doesn't have to be. We can just…"

"Just what?! Fuck! If it's because you think I don't love you, you fucking well know I do, Vince! I always have!" Stuart, arms wide open, staring, blazing, fuming. Even his anger is beautiful. Leave it to him to make the biggest declaration of their lives in a fit of rage.

And Vince can only stare. This person he's known more than half his life. They've no secrets from one another. And they'll always be together. Stuart and Vince. Forever. Nothing can tear them apart. "But it's not enough. You've gotta fancy 'em. And you don't. You never have. Not me. Simple as that, Stuart."

The words strike Stuart like a cold blast of air. He's been too cool for his own good. Could always make Vince believe anything he wanted.

Stalking forward, staring deep into Vince's eyes, Stuart's voice is low and deep. Quiet and reverent. "First day. Fourteen years old. I walk in, look out from the front of the classroom and there — the brightest blue eyes I've ever seen. And he looks up, right at me, turns bright pink and I can't get him to look at me again for the rest of the day. And I think to myself, 'Fuck. I'm having him.'" Stuart takes another step forward and Vince, stock still, can't say anything.

Stuart continues, "And every time I tried to talk to him, he'd stutter and mumble and twitter on about nonsense and run away. Every time. For a fucking week! Then what happened, Vince? You remember."

For a moment, he's still speechless. Takes a deep breath. "That fight. Five on one, you never had a chance."

With a smirk, Stuart says, "I gave as good as I got."

"Yeah, but you were bloody and black and blue for a week."

"And you were there. Picked me up, took me to Hazel's while she was out. Spoke to me like a real person for the first time, ever. From the first day, Vince. The first moment, I fancied you. But then you became too important."

"But…"

"Yeah. I still tried for a few more weeks. But you were either totally oblivious or… fucking maddeningly hard to get. And so, when we finally… Fuck, Vince, you've no idea how fucking angry I was after that." Stuart shakes his head, almost still angry at the fourteen year old Vince instead of the grown man before him.

"You stopped talking to me," Vince says quietly.

"Cuz you kept pretending like nothing happened! I came back, though, didn't I?"

"Two weeks later. Took me out and got me pissed. The look on Hazel's face when we tried sneaking back into the house…" Vince shakes his head.

"You were always more, Vince. More than a quick wank. More than just a shag. More. We're more." Just inches apart, Stuart takes another step, bringing them into contact.

"But, I can't—"

"Yes. We can." He silences Vince the only way that ever really works, with a kiss. Soft, unlike any kiss they've shared. "It's you and me, Vince."

No other words are needed. Vince gives in. He kisses back. Never before, on all the occasions when Stuart has kissed him did he once kiss back. It's the signal Stuart has been waiting for.

It's not a union of souls, for they've been linked since the moment they met. It's not a climax, for that would imply that it's all downhill from here. It's neither a beginning nor an end. It just is what it is: a forever moment in a forever lifetime. Stuart and Vince.

And it doesn't last as long as they'd like. Not the first time, anyway. They hadn't even made it to the bed. Vince lies on his back with Stuart just next to him, legs in a tangle, trousers round their ankles.

"God."

"Yeah."

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

"Say something else."

"Can't." Vince turns his head to the side and catches Stuart's eye. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That!" He turns away, but it's done and he's laughing. The kind of laughing that can't be controlled or stopped or even explained, it just bubbles up in a continuous surge.

"What? I'm not fucking doing anything. Vince! Will you stop laughing!"

"I can't. Oh my God, the look on your face. I can't get it out of my head! Don't… don't look at me!" Vince's body, racked with laughter, curls in on itself, his legs still tangled with Stuart's. "Your eyes bug out and that vein on your temple looks like it's about to explode! I always… thought… you look… like… yer angry… but it… 's just… orgas…" His laughter grows so he can no longer speak in clear sentences. Incoherent gasps are all that come out.

"Shut it! You're one to talk. Your whole head turns beet red. Thought you were going to have an aneurism!" Stuart, no longer angry at this outburst because he has to admit it's just so very Vince, smirks his usual. "And that grunting noise you make. What the fuck was that? Sound like a stuck pig."

"I. Do. Not." 

"You do! 'Oh, oh my GOD! Ugh, ungh!'" Stuart's imitation, exaggerated though it may be, is pretty well spot on.

Try as he might, Vince can't hide the blush. "Well, what about you? That whimpering. Never in a million years! Stuart Alan Jones whimpers right before he comes!"

"I have never whimpered in my entire life."

"Oh, oh sure. Guess I'm the only one who's made you whimper then."

Stuart rolls, lying his body half on top of Vince. "Yeah."

The second time lasts much longer. And, eventually, they manage to get in the bed.

* * *


	2. Rise and shine.

* * *

There's noise somewhere in the room, but Vince does his best to block it out, jamming the pillow over his head. It's when he feels a weight settle on top of him that he finally acknowledges daylight with a groan. "Gerroff!! Lemme sleep."

"No way, Vince. You promised me. We are going shopping." Another groan from Vince. Stuart licks his lips, wiggles his hips firmly in place, pressing into Vince's… back. "Unless you're too sore?"

"Mff. Not sore. Just… immobile," Vince's reply, muffled by the pillow. But his next snort of laughter is clearly audible. And his, "Fucking colossus my arse. I've seen bigger." He bucks his hips, effectively tossing Stuart off to the side.

"You've never, in your life, had bigger or better, Vince."

"I said I've seen bigger. Not had."

"Porn doesn't count."

"Not porn. He was real." Rolling over onto his back, Vince fluffs up the pillow and places it under his head. Staring up at the ceiling, because he can't look yet, he feels Stuart next to him on the bed. "Remember five years ago, that Chase bloke that wouldn't leave me alone—"

"Aptly named."

"Thought he wanted you. Go through me to get to you—"

Stuart snorts. Other way around most times. At least, that's what he always thought. If he got there first, Vince wouldn't look at them twice.

"Anyway, happened that weekend you were away. Tokyo I think it was. Yeah, cuz you got me that bootleg copy… Oh my God, that was amazing, never would have found it anywhere. 'Course you said you had to shag that bloke to get it, but you would have shagged him anyway and you know it—"

"Vince. Point."

"Right. It was while you were gone and he cornered me at Babylon. Didn't even wait to get to the toilets. He wanted it right there on the dance floor!"

"You had him at Babylon, on the dance floor, in front of everyone?"

"No. Told you, didn't actually get the chance. But he was huge. Too bad the rest of him wasn't as nice. One look at that, though, and he was mauled by every twink in a twenty foot radius."

Stuart smiles and laughs. "Oh-ho, you sad bastard. Bloke offers it to you on a platter and you still miss out. I remember Tokyo. I had that shop boy who turned out to be five years older than me. Christ, he looked twenty!" Still laughing, Stuart reaches down the side of the bed for his trousers. "Come on, Vince. We'll get breakfast on the way." After pulling on his trousers, he turns back to see Vince hasn't moved. "What?"

"Stuart… what are we going to do?"

"Breakfast. Shopping. After that… I dunno, you decide."

"You know that's not what I meant." Vince turns his head to stare into deep blue eyes. "Stuart, I can't go back."

"'Course we're not going back! Never going back, Vince. Who wants to go back to Manchester?" Throwing himself onto the bed, Stuart sits cross-legged facing Vince. "We could do Europe, Asia, South America. We can go anywhere, Vince. Give me a day to sort out the London office and then… Anywhere. Wherever you want."

"I didn't mean," Vince says slowly, gathering his courage, "I can't go back home. Of course I'm going to go back. Just… am I going back whenever we get tired of doing… whatever we do? Or am I going back now… alone? Cuz if this was just… nothing, and you expect us to be like we were before… I can't, Stuart. I can't. Say it now. You want to go and conquer the world, shagging everything in sight, then alright. And I'll go home. And it'll be alright." He nods, as though confirming this. "I could probably even get my job back. Or a job. My old job. God, can I go back to that? Suppose I could look for something new. Never know. Could do something completely different. Always wanted to mpfff!"

With his hand firmly over Vince's mouth, Stuart just stares at him. "You're not going back. You can pick our first destination, but you're not going back. No one's going back." He leaves his hand there for a long moment, letting it sink in, before removing it slowly. "So? Where to?"

"Helsinki."

"What the fuck's in Helsinki?"

"Dunno. First place that came to mind. It's fun to say. Hell-sink-eee."

"Twat." They both laugh and Stuart moves to sit beside him on the bed again. "Say, where'd you learn that thing with your tongue?"

* * *


	3. 3 Days in London

* * *

Three days in London.

Two of which were spent entirely in the room.

The third saw them shopping, Vince on the phone to Hazel, and Stuart sorting out his work situation. Then they were off. Helsinki it was, because Stuart couldn't come up with a solid reason not to go and Vince couldn't think of another place. His mind was set.

The flight was just long enough for Vince to be inducted into the mile high club; Stuart a member, and frequent flyer, since 1994.

Stuart quickly and expertly located the 'Gay Mecca' and Finland's answer to Babylon, a club called Hercules. After a couple hours of dancing and getting cruised (without cruising anyone much to Vince's surprise) Stuart broke out his fabulous language skills and engaged in a lengthy discussion with two of the most beautiful, blond, Nordic gods either of them had ever seen. This led them to the nudist beach enclave on the island of Pihlayasaari.

On the quick ferry ride over, Vince fidgets with his newly acquired backpack, rummaging for the sun block. He feels Stuart next to him, staring. He's been staring at Vince like that for the last three days. Or the last two months. Or maybe the last sixteen years. With an exasperated sigh, Vince looks up and asks, "What?"

"Why didn't you just say no?"

"What?"

"Vince, I know you. You have no desire to go to a nudist beach. I can see you sweating, trying to come up with reasons not to go, not to get your kit off in front of all those men, to leave as quickly as possible… So, why didn't you just say you didn't want to go?"

"'Course, I do. Who wouldn't?"

"You."

"But you do."

"Not if you don't." Stuart almost laughs. At Vince or himself, he's not sure. Instead, he smirks and slides over to whisper into Vince's ear. "We're here together. We decide together. If you want to do something else—"

"Like what? I'm the one picked this destination, but, Stuart, I don't have a clue what there is to do here. Nothing that you—er, that we'd both like."

"Why did you finally give in, Vince?"

His face scrunches and those blue eyes turn dark for a moment before Vince so eloquently utters, "Huh?"

Stuart looks away. Too serious, this, can't say it _and_ look into those eyes. "In London. In the hotel room. After weeks, months… Fuck! Years, Vince. After all this time, why did you finally give in?" Stuart grips the railing so tight his knuckles turn white. In the silence that looms between them, he takes a chance to look at Vince.

"Is that how you see it? I gave in? Me?" He waits, but Stuart just sort of flicks his eyes and purses his lips. "All or nothing right, Stuart? I figured since you were hell-bent on leaving and there was nothing I could do about it… cuz there wasn't, was there? I couldn't have stopped you, not even if I'd asked or begged you to stay, you wouldn't have. So, that was it. I could go or I could stay. So I went. And I went for it. I meant it before, what I said. If it was just a one-off, that I'd go home and leave you to it. But that would be it, Stuart. No going back. So, yeah, I risked sixteen years of friendship for maybe one night. All or nothing. Like you said."

As Vince turns away from him and the ferry docks, Stuart doesn't know what to say. Rarely in his life has he ever been rendered utterly speechless and, surprise surprise, it's usually Vince that does it.

The passengers start to file out but before Vince can turn to go, Stuart catches his arm. "Guess we'll be heading back then? There was some film festival you were talking about. Starts in…" he glances at his watch, just for pretense, "about an hour, right?"

* * *


	4. Other Side

* * *

It was on a train somewhere in Europe, neither sure where they'd just been or where exactly they were headed, when everything changed. 

They'd been traveling for three weeks now with no contact, no ties to Manchester at all (except Vince had been secretly phoning Hazel every couple of days or so and Stuart was allowing him to believe that he was getting away with it). Bumbling, more or less, from place to place with nary a thought as to what they were doing or where they might end up, Vince, in an unprecedented state of complete and total un-worry, was continually surprised and pleased by Stuart's constant presence at his side. That's over 500 hours of togetherness. 

They ate together, they went out together, they came back to whatever hotel they'd be staying in together and, more to both their liking, after hours of 'playing' together, they slept together, only to wake up and do it all again. Together. They went to museums in which Stuart would stand, bored yet amused, while Vince took everything in, the light in his eyes at its very brightest with that look of child-like wonder on his face that nobody, other than Vince, past the age of ten can pull off. Every so often, Vince would ask, "Stuart, are you bored? If you're bored, we can do something else next. But you have to pick it this time." And each time, Stuart would shrug, saying whatever Vince wanted to do was fine with him.

Most of the cites they'd been to so far, aside from the initial Finnish destination, Stuart had already seen at least once in his life, though the parts he may have seen are not exactly listed on any travel guide. Vince, however, was experiencing everything for the first time and, through his unfailing excitement and awe, Stuart felt as though he was, too. Every time he saw Vince's face light up he felt like fifteen years had just melted away and they were kids again. He remembered the way he used to try so hard to impress Vince when they first met. It took Stuart a few months to realize that he didn't really have to try; Vince was completely infatuated with him. Stuart never ceased to amaze, but each day, each new story had to be bigger, better than the last one, to keep Vince's rapt attention.

And as soon as they were out of Manchester, away from everything they knew, Stuart felt that once more. He had to show Vince the whole wide world and still keep him. Show him everything and prove that everything he could ever want is right here with him and always will be.

Vince, brimming with the exhilaration of breaking free, the anticipation of the next wild adventure, and, occasionally, the satisfied feeling of having Stuart with him, really with him, was a little slow to pick up on it. The first thing he noticed, obviously, was Stuart's lack of general snarkiness. His entire demeanor, really, was more calm, more relaxed. Always one for action, now Stuart was the one to tell Vince to slow down, calm down. And he was smiling more. All the time. A smile Vince rarely saw since they were kids.

The second, and possibly more obvious, unless you are Vince and were pointedly ignoring it, was Stuart's lack of… being Stuart Alan Jones. Not that he'd lost anything. In truth, he was more himself than he's been in the last couple of years. He just wasn't… restless like he used to be. Always on the prowl, on the lookout for the next shag, wanting it so bad his skin hummed and you could feel it vibrating from him like a hive of bees. Not to say he wasn't looking. His eyes were open, weren't they? Stuart could never turn that off. He could walk into a room and pick out every shag-able bloke within five minutes. And pull one in ten.

It was the fact that he _didn't_ that mostly had Vince on edge. Because he kept waiting for it. He was expecting it. And the constant anticipation was wearing him down.

So, it was on the train between two nameless destinations when everything changed. Or… When change was made possible, might be more accurate.

Vince blinks and tries to move his head, but he has a terrible crick in his neck from leaning against the window. He'd been watching the scenery fly past until it got too dark or he fell asleep, he's not sure which happened first. A hand rubs the back of his neck as he groans and he turns to see Stuart still sitting next to him, a sleepy smile on his face.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Not long," Stuart whispers. He doesn't know why; it's just dark and everyone else in the cabin is so quiet. He'd wanted to get a private one, but Vince told him it wasn't necessary, the trip would only be a few hours. Besides, what fun is it finding a place to shag on a train if you've got a private cabin? Stuart gave in to that.

"Sorry." Vince yawns and tries to stretch. He's got that funny sleeping-in-the-middle-of-the-day taste in his mouth. "What've you been doing?"

Stuart holds up the book he was reading and waggles it in front of Vince's face. "We should be there soon. Another forty minutes, I think."

"Mm." Vince stretches again and leans his head on Stuart's shoulder. He starts to open his mouth to say something, but just then the man three rows up stands and turns toward the back. 

He walks past them slowly and makes eye contact with Stuart, just the hint of a smile on his face. Stuart's eyes follow the man as he makes his way down the aisle toward the loo.

"Well?" Vince's voice wakes Stuart out of his trance. 

"Well what?"

"I saw that. He wants it. Aren't you going?"

Stuart stares at him for such a long time. He was hoping Vince would just let it go. Let it pass without comment. If anyone should know that, Vince should. Those bright blue eyes are staring back, unwavering, unchallenging, accepting. Stuart looks away, shaking his head. "Nah."

But Vince continues to stare. "Why not?"

"You want me to go shag him?" He hadn't meant to raise his voice, to sound upset.

Vince is still so calm. "It's who you are, Stuart."

Another silence. Stuart still doesn't look at him. "Vince, we…"

"Yeah. We are. But I don't expect you to change who you are, Stuart. I love you. And I know you. I would never want you to… sacrifice for me."

"What about what I want?" The words were so quiet, Vince isn't quite sure he heard them. 

"What?"

They enter a tunnel and the dim lights over head begin to flicker, casting them in a surreal strobe-like setting, not unlike that of Babylon or any of the other clubs they've spent hundreds, thousands of nights in their lives. The lights flicker once more and go out, plunging them into darkness.

Stuart turns, facing Vince full on, even though they can hardly see one another. "It's why it's now, Vince. Out here. Away from… from all of that, all of them, everything. I couldn't. Not there. They wouldn't… But you know me. Known me practically my whole life. The only person who's ever seen me. Really seen me. And I don't want… it was never about them, you know. Do you know what I'm saying?"

"Not really. You're talking in riddles here, Stuart."

"You've seen me change. You let me change. I don't have to be that anymore. I don't _want_ to be that anymore." 

The lights flick back on as they emerge on the other side of the tunnel, too bright, and they are barely an inch apart, staring at each other. Too much, too much. Stuart cringes inwardly. He sounds so pathetic to his own ears. Grand speeches are all well and good when he has a belly full of fire and anger to fuel them, but not… this. Weak. He's weak and stupid. Never should have said. He shouldn't have had to say. Vince should have just bloody _known_ and the twat still hasn't said anything it's been five fucking minutes and he's just sitting there staring back over Stuart's shoulder. _Say something you stupid cunt!_

Something brushes past Stuart causing him to turn around just in time to see the bloke stride past back to his seat. Another movement on his other side and Vince is getting up out of his seat.

He leans down to whisper in Stuart's ear. "Loo's free. You'd better be there in less than ten seconds." He kisses Stuart on the cheek real quick before disappearing down the aisle.

* * *


	5. Faster, You Bastard

* * *

"Oh my God! Oh my God! Wait for me! I'm gonna fucking murder you, Stuart Alan Jones!"

"Run faster, Vince. Come on!" 

The early morning sun shines off Stuart's dark curls, giving his hair a polished sheen, as the sweat drips down his face. His heart beats as loud as the thundering of the ground beneath his feet. Adrenaline pumping, this rush is better than any drug he could ever get his hands on. He reaches out, grasping Vince's hand, and pulls him along, laughing wildly.

The red kerchief round Vince's neck whips in the wind, stinging his face, but he keeps running. He wouldn't think of stopping now. How does he let Stuart talk him into this stuff? _Sure, Stuart, you can pick the next destination,_ he'd said. _No, 'course I don't mind what we do there!_

They have to shout to be heard over the roar of the crowds cheering and the other runners. They have to hold tight so they don't get separated. 

It's far too early for this. Who wants to wake up at seven in the bloody morning to get trampled to death… Once, Vince actually thinks he feels the hot air snorting from the bulls at their heels. If he didn't love the bastard so much and if Stuart didn't look so damn sexy in that tight white suit, he would kill him. He really would.

With a death-grip on Stuart's hand, Vince's legs pump faster, faster, almost numb with the fear and fury and… and exhilaration and absolute, utter amazement that YES! Yes, Vincent Tyler is doing this!

"I'm such a twat!"

"This is fantastic, Vince!"

"Faster, you bastard!"

* * *


	6. Sex and Love

* * *

Stuart lays his head back against the pillow of Vince's arm and closes his eyes to the white hot sun. A soft breeze blows over his face, drying the sweat, causing a little shiver. He fills with the scent of summer and flowers and the man next to him. Turning his head to the side, Stuart uses the guise of shielding his eyes from the sun to bury his nose in Vince's neck, inhaling that familiar, comforting, yet exotic, fragrance. He knows now.

\---

> "I've got things I wanna do. And he's just… he's not… he's just he's not good enough!"
> 
> "Oh, you've argued again. You two, you're like a married couple."
> 
> "Except we're not shagging."
> 
> "That's a married couple."
> 
> "Another reason to go."
> 
> "I bet he moves to London. What's he said?" Stuart looked away from Romey, prompting her to ask again. "Go on. What's he said?"
> 
> He glanced back at her, a hard stare, then away again.
> 
> "Christ, you haven't even told him?"
> 
> He turned back to her again, not quite shouting, "He'd only try and stop me."
> 
> "Of course, he would! He loves you. That's your problem."
> 
> "I don't _do_ love. Love is for straights and lesbians. It's pointless and boring."
> 
> "You can say that all you like, Stuart Jones, but I _know_ you. I see it when you're with Alfie. When you think no one is looking. And I've always seen it in the way you look at Vince. The way you _need_ Vince. You think only women confuse sex and love and you laugh about it. But you! You've gone the complete polar opposite. You do sex, that's for damn sure, _and_ you do love, but never the two shall mix. I've seen you after a night spent out shagging and I've seen you after a night spent with Vince, at home, watching telly or whatever else Vince has convinced you to do. And guess which times you've looked happiest?"
> 
> He couldn't bring himself to look at her. He sat opposite and took up his mug, taking a sip.
> 
> Romey continued as Alfie fidgeted in her arms. "You go away, sever yourself from him, and you'll not only hurt him, but you'll make yourself miserable. And you'd do it, too, out of spite, if he doesn't stop you." She lifted Alfie up, cradling him in the crook of her elbow. His pale eyes stared across the table at Stuart. "You'll lose the best thing in your life, Stuart. And why? So you can remain king? The miserly old king who will never know what it means to feel love. Never know the touch of someone to be not only exciting and arousing, but comforting as well. Never know what it is to make love with someone. To want to feel that person all around you, be enveloped by the scents and sounds, completely taken over." The wistful look on her face vanished and she merely gazed at Stuart, challenging.
> 
> He stared at her for a long moment, matching her steely gaze, but he had to look away first. "Watch who you're calling old."

\---

"Stuart. Stuart!"

He wakes to someone shaking his shoulder and looks up into brilliant blue eyes.

Vince leans over him, smiling now. "Come on. We're boarding. Grab your bag." He slings a backpack over his shoulder and reaches down for Stuart's bag.

Standing, Stuart takes the bag from Vince, catching his wrist and holding tight. Vince looks back, puzzled. Before he can speak, Stuart pulls Vince to him and kisses him slowly but strongly, tasting every corner of Vince's mouth. When they separate, Vince blinks at him, blushing for all of England.

"What was that for?"

With a shrug, Stuart slings an arm over Vince's shoulders and leads him in the direction of the queuing passengers. "Come on. We're going to miss the boat."

* * *


	7. The Rules

* * *

Vince drops the handset of the payphone back into the cradle, barely able to say goodbye to Hazel before he'd run out of time. He wishes he'd gotten one of those calling card thingies. But then he'd have to ask Stuart to pay for it and of course Stuart would have to know why Vince needed it. As long as he's got a pile of loose change, he doesn't have to bother about that.

He's made it a point to contact Hazel whenever he got the chance. Just to let her know that they were still alive. So she wouldn't worry. Just so she'd know they were OK. That was his only reason. Really. It was all for Hazel's benefit. He knows she'd go out of her mind if he didn't drop a line every week, at least.

And he sort of misses her. And it's comforting to hear her voice. And she tells him about everyone back home. She's always full of new stories. Even got a boyfriend… sort of, she says. A man, anyway. A _straight_ man. A copper. Vince had laughed when she'd told him the tale of how PC Stroud had asked her out. He'd gotten all charges against her dropped and everything. Vince had wanted to share it all with Stuart, but that was against the rules. They were supposed to leave it all behind, no strings, on their own, Stuart and Vince against the world.

That's not as easy as people might think. Maybe effortless and natural for Stuart to leave everything and everyone he's ever known and be perfectly happy about it, but Vince just couldn't. And if it's so easy for Stuart to just drop everything on a whim, without a second thought, what happens if he decides that he can leave Vince, too?

They haven't picked their next destination yet. Just standing around the airport in… Where are they, again? Vince honestly doesn't know. Lots of French. Oh right, Montreal. Nice here. If Stuart ever did decide to ditch him, Vince could seriously consider staying here. Though he's not sure what it's like in the winter. Might get too cold. He's not a fan of extreme cold. But Canada, so far, has been really great. Pleasant people, beautiful scenery. They've been really happy these past few weeks, making sort of a zigzagging pattern across the country by train. But now it's turning cooler up here in the north and Stuart said he'd be damned if he was going to waste time in the cold.

That reminds Vince. He quickly walks back toward the main lobby of the airport, looking for Stuart. Vince had told him he needed the restroom and Stuart had gone off to get coffee or something. Peering through the thin crowds of people, Vince doesn't see any sign of him. He's not worried. Well, he's not too bothered about it. Stuart hasn't 'copped off' with anyone else since they left home. And he's had plenty of chances. Vince had even given him his consent. In a way. You can't tell Stuart he can't do something, because then he'll just do it anyway. Sometimes, whether he really wants to or not. Likewise, you can't let him think you're _allowing_ him to do something, because that means he's obligated to ask permission. And Stuart Alan Jones does _not_ ask permission for anything.

Vince just hasn't said anything about it at all. Not since the train. And he knows that Stuart hasn't done anything, either. Not that he hasn't been looking. They both have. They've even jokingly talked about threesomes. But nothing has ever come of it. Not yet. In a weird sort of way, they've settled into a bizarre kind of nomadic domesticity. Vince is still waiting for Stuart to get bored. To get angry. To be… Stuarty about all this.

"Here."

Vince jumps two feet in the air at the sound of Stuart's voice and almost knocks the thick paper cup of coffee out of his hand. "Oh! There you are. Was just… ah, coming back to find you. From… the toilets." He looks back over his shoulder toward the bank of phones and the bathroom just beyond.

"Yeah. So, did you tell Hazel 'hi' for me?"

Blushing, Vince looks down at his coffee. He's not even that surprised. Of course, Stuart knew. He always knows. Vince mumbles, "Yeah. She sends her love."

"You didn't really think I'd expect you not to phone her, did you?"

"I don't know. I thought it was part of the deal. Breaking free and all that. One of the rules."

"Vince. There are no rules. That's the point."

Nodding, "Right." Vince takes a sip, smiles at the good taste, perfect blend. No rules, means anything goes, anything can happen. "Well, it's your turn again. Nothing life threatening, please."

"If you say that every time, Vince, it takes all the fun out of it." He starts walking toward a row of chairs. "I was thinking maybe New York. You've never been. Supposed to be nice in autumn."

"Yeah, sounds good."

"And I've been calling Romey. To see how Alfie's doing. She's been uploading photos for me to see."

Surprised by this, and unspeakably touched somehow, Vince remains standing, staring as Stuart sits. "That's why all the internet cafes, the libraries and that? You told me it was work."

"No, I didn't. You thought it was work and I didn't correct you. Besides, sometimes it was. Look, I'm telling you now so you don't have to go sneaking around phoning Hazel when you're supposed to be going to the loo."

Smiling, Vince takes a seat next to Stuart. "And how's—"

"He's getting bigger. Started crawling. Not walking. He's fine without me."

Vince can tell just by the tone of voice that Stuart is trying harder to convince himself than anyone else. He leans lack in his chair, wondering if putting his arm around Stuart's shoulder would be rebuffed.

"And there is one rule, Vince."

Caught off guard, Vince turns his head, tilted to one side, and waits for Stuart to continue.

"We're stuck with each other. No matter what."

* * *


	8. Get 'em off!

* * *

"Wake up, ye twat."

"Fuck off."

"Fine. Sleep in the car. I'm going to get a room."

"What? Where're we?" Vince blinks and looks around them.

"Middle of fucking nowhere, but I've found a motel, so get up and get in here."

"Alright. No need to yell." As Vince slowly tries to unbuckle his seatbelt and clamber out of the Jeep Stuart continues grumbling, though at a lower volume to contend with the eerie silence of the empty parking lot.

"This was your batfuck idea and I'm the one doing all the work." He pulls his bag out and marches toward the entrance doors.

"I never said we _had_ to drive cross country, Stuart," Vince says as he tries pulling his own bag free, but it appears to be stuck. "I just said that _you_ wouldn't." When he finally yanks the bag free, he looks around and realizes he's talking to himself.

\---

"Look at this place." Stuart throws his bag onto the bed in disgust.

"Well, why didn't you find a nicer motel then?" He gets a scathing look from Stuart that tells him to shut up. Of course, he doesn't. "It's not so bad. There's a bed, a bath, and a telly. What more could you ask for?"

"Uh, I dunno, Vince. Clean sheets would be nice. I'm not touching that bed. Uh," ducking his head into the adjacent bathroom, Stuart says, "some toilet paper might be useful. Fresh towels could come in handy." As his rant continues, his voice gets muffled by running water and Vince sort of tunes him out.

Until, "Jesus Fucking Christ!"

"What? What? Stuart! What happened?"

Stuart blows by Vince, nearly knocking him down, and turns around to face him, grabbing his bag off the bed. "We're not staying here. It's disgusting!"

"What is it?" Vince takes a peek into the bathroom and almost hits his head on the doorjamb when he jumps back. "Oh my God! It's huge! There are tons of them!" Vince stumbles backward toward the bed. Stuart catches him by the arm, shoves Vince's bag at him and drags him to the door.

\---

The seats in the Jeep don't go all the way back. Stuart has his legs hooked up over the steering wheel with his feet on the windshield. Vince is sort of curled up in the passenger seat with Stuart's jacket draped over him. The only sound is that of crickets and frogs outside and their own breathing in the enclosed space.

Vince jumps, jarring his neck, and squeals, "Get 'em off! Get 'em off me!" He sits upright brushing his hands all over his body.

"What? Vince? You OK?" Stuart tries to sit up, but his feet are stuck so he reaches out for Vince's shoulder.

"Oh, I was dreaming we were back in that room and they were crawling all over us."

Stuart makes a face and says, "Don't put that image in my head."

"Sorry. God, I've never seen cockroaches that big before. Think maybe they were radioactive or something?"

"I didn't notice them glowing."

"No. But one of 'em looked at me. I could see its eyes."

"Go back to sleep, Vince."

"I don't think I can. Switch me places. I'll drive for a bit while you sleep."

"You're too tired to drive, Vince. I don't want to wake up dead in a ditch in the middle of Bumfuck, America."

"Wake up dead… you're not even making sense."

"'Course, I'm not. I'm half asleep. Come here." Stuart does sit up this time, reaches over to Vince and tugs at his trousers, deftly twisting them open and delving a hand inside. With a kiss to Vince's surprised mouth, Stuart tells him, "I know what will get you to sleep."

"Stuart—Oh!"

Even half asleep, Stuart Alan Jones still has the best mouth on earth.

* * *


	9. So Camp

* * *

"Stuart, stop, this is it."

Bringing the Jeep to a halt, Stuart looks around , barely masking his disdain. Vince points out the numbered marker by the site.

"This is the worst fucking idea you've ever had."

"Shut up. It'll be fun." Vince smiles, happily, unloading their stuff.

"Jesus, we're in the middle of nowhere." Stuart climbs down from the Jeep and sneers at the trees. Everywhere he looks, nothing but trees and rocks and birds and dirt and insects. "We could be attacked by a bear and no one would hear us scream."

"Bears never were your thing, were they?" Vince continues going about his business, mostly ignoring Stuart, pulling out their newly acquired supplies.

"There could be serial killers, axe murderers, madmen with chainsaws, deformed freaks roaming these woods, Vince. Practically every horror movie we've ever seen starts out exactly like this."

"And not a few pornos, if I recall."

Stuart scoffs, "Fine. Have it your way. But if I hear banjo music in the middle of the night, I'm out of here. I'll leave you, I swear."

"We're in Wyoming, Stuart, not Kentucky. Or wherever that film took place."

"What's the difference?"

He's not buying into it. Stuart, adventurous nothing-I-won't-do Stuart Alan Jones, is afraid to sleep outside in the woods? Pff. He just wants to be pampered.

"Are you going to help me or just sit on your arse all night?"

Stuart folds his arms across his chest and leans back against the Jeep, the expression on his face somewhere between boredom and revulsion. He remains silent.

"Fine," Vince sighs and resumes his task. "If I'm putting up the tent by myself, then I'm sleeping in the tent by myself. You can sit out here all night in the cold." He snaps a pole into place and smiles at Stuart. "Alone."

"Or," Stuart unfolds his arms and moves away from the vehicle, "I could just hop in the car and drive away leaving you here." He stresses, "Alone."

Vince is unfazed. He flashes a dopey grin, saying, "Do it. I'll be fine on my own. Just me and nature." He swats a mosquito away, losing his stride, and drops another tent pole. Ignoring Stuart's snort from behind him, Vince glances around. "Where's that bug spray?"

A moment later an aerosol can hits him mid-thigh. Vince picks it up off the ground, letting the rest of the tent fall to the ground, and mutters, "Cheers, Stuart," under his breath. He then proceeds to spray a cloud of toxic fumes around him as a force field against good ol' nature.

Half an hour later, Stuart is lying on his back on a wooden picnic table next to the fire pit at their campsite, his jacket and Vince's wrapped around him, shivering in the dark golden blue of dusk. Vince is still struggling with the tent.

"Stuart," he pleads, just a hint of a whine in his voice, "could you maybe just hand me that stake there? I've almost got it, but if I move then—" 

The tent collapses.

"Can we go yet?"

"NO! We're camping out. It's part of the experience, Stuart. If you'd help… You could at least build a fire." Vince scrambles around, getting the small, easy to set-up two person tent into some semblance of shape, muttering under his breath about indolent Irish bastards and stupid sales clerks at the outdoor gear store.

Lazily, Stuart rises from his place on the picnic table and goes about making a fire with the wood they bought. This is something he can do quite well. He ignores Vince swearing under his breath, although he hears his own name several times.

Well past dark the tent is finally up, if leaning precariously to the east. The fire is burning steadily, but they haven't enough firewood to last through the night. Stuart is again lying back on the picnic table. Vince sitting on the bench, leaning back, smoking a cigarette. He feels just like a cowboy in an old film.

Except for the insects. There are never any bugs in films.

But the stars. He's never seen so many stars in his entire life. This must be why they call it 'Big Sky Country.' No, wait, that's Montana. Or Colorado? Whatever, Vince doesn't know. It's still beautiful. A light streaks across the sky and Vince stands abruptly.

"Stuart, did you see that? A shooting star." Vince's voice is hushed. It seems wrong somehow to disturb the still night.

"Where?"

"You missed it. You're supposed to make a wish."

"How about a four star hotel."

"Too late, you missed your chance."

"Fine. Guess it's your wish. So…?" Stuart rolls onto his side and drapes an arm over Vince's shoulder, tilting his head back to pillow on Stuart's stomach. "What's your wish?"

The fire reflected in Vince's eyes seems to burn a little brighter as he levers his body on top of Stuart, pinning him to the table.

* * *


	10. Viva Las… Vince?

* * *

"Stuart, get that one! There, there!"

"I see it! I see it!"

"On the left. Oh! Three o'clock!"

"Vince! Stop backseat driving." Stuart elbows him onto his side of the bed, working the game controller with both hands.

"Well, let me play one then. You're hogging it and I'm bored."

"I've still got three lives left."

"You keep saying that and you keep getting more. Just let me play one."

"No, you'll waste it."

"I'm the one that ordered the game!"

"Is it my fault we were kicked out of the casino?"

Vince rolls onto his side, facing Stuart, leaning his head on his hand. "Um, let's recap, shall we?"

 

**8 Hours Earlier:**

"C'mon, Vince! This will be so brilliant!" Stuart drags him into the lift, pressing the button for the ground floor as the doors slide shut.

"I thought you were going to get tickets to the Cirque du Soleil."

"This will be better, Vince. Way more fun than watching a bunch of freaks fly around on stage. What fun are contortionists if you can't touch?" He'd tried, he'd really, really tried to get tickets to that stupid show, because he knew how much Vince wanted to see it. All the strings he tried pulling, however, got him nothing. Now he's sulking, but determined to make this fun for Vince. Yesterday had been alright. He'd won _lots_ of money at the black jack table and been given a complimentary suite, but Vince had gotten a bit bored taking care of a drunk Stuart.

"Stuart, you can't go walking around with that thing in public!"

"It's a fucking prop gun, Vince. What harm could it do?" Stuart twirls the silver pistol around his finger and dramatically stuffs it down the back of his tight, black jeans.

"What do you need it for then?"

"I just like it. Nice of that lad to let me take it."

"Yeah," Vince scoffs and rolls his eyes, "nice."

"Aw, c'mon, Vinnie, you telling me you didn't like him? After he showed us all around the studios, even into the forbidden areas." Stuart slings an arm around Vince's shoulders and purrs in his ear, "You didn't like watching him suck me off on the dark set, with all those cameras around, when we could have gotten caught at any second?"

Vince tries his best to keep a straight face. "Wasn't bad."

Leaning closer, his mouth against Vince's ear, Stuart whispers, "I almost pulled him off you, it was making me so hot and I didn't want anyone else touching you, Vince." He curls his tongue around the edge of Vince's ear. "Were you jealous, Vinnie?"

Vince licks his lips and takes a shallow breath. "I didn't like it when you looked at him. Can do what you want, you know that, as long as you're looking at me."

Stuart presses him up against the wall, bodies flush, murmuring into his mouth, "'M always looking at you."

So caught up in the moment they are that, when the lift doors slide open revealing two men very much entangled and only moderately decent, neither has any clue until someone very gently clears his throat and very uncertainly says, "Freeze."

\---

"And how was that my fault?" Stuart continues to concentrate on his game, trying his best to ignore Vince.

"Did you not think they'd have cameras in the lift, Stuart? Did you not think that when their security team saw a man waving a gun around in the lift that they'd possibly react the way they did?" Looking out on a lobby full of black-suited men with firearms trained at your head is the most effective way to get rid of an erection that Vince has ever experienced in his life.

"I sorted it all out and we're fine now. Not much they could have done to us, anyway, Vince. It isn't real. They even let me keep it."

"Yeah, well, spending four hours in a holding room being questioned by very scary and, might I add, very large men is not my idea of fun."

"I'd have thought being trapped in a room with large men was a dream come true for you."

Vince snorts, angrily, and climbs over Stuart's body to the other side of the bed. "Well, since we're confined to our room until morning, I'm going to take a bath. Enjoy your game." He stomps into the large bathroom of their suite and slams the door. Somehow, he knows that it was only by Stuart's luck that they weren't thrown in jail or deported. Stuart's luck and Stuart's money, that is. He's still mad, though. He has every right to stay mad for a very long time. It won't last through the night, he knows that, but he can milk it for all it's worth right now.

Contrary to what Stuart thinks, Vince did have fun yesterday. Watching Stuart is one of his favorite pastimes. All the better when it's a happy Stuart and he's actively involving Vince as his 'good luck charm.' They got a few odd looks from the others around the table every time Stuart would grab him and snog him for luck, but no one was complaining when they were winning all that money.

Vince shakes the images out of his head, trying to remember that he's supposed to be angry.

His anger lasts until about twenty minutes later, when he's sliding into the deep tub, bubbles foaming, jets on full blast, and Stuart standing in the doorway watching him. Naked. Can't stay mad at him when he looks like that.

Stuart leans his head against the door frame, eyes never leaving Vince. "L.A. was good, right? You liked it?"

"Yeah. Hollywood sign isn't quite as impressive in person, but Disneyland was fun."

"And the film studio tours? You had a good time, yeah?"

"Yes, Stuart, you know I did."

Walking forward, slowly, in that hip swaying fluid way he has, Stuart perches on the edge of the tub and dips a hand into the water. "And all the other stuff? You're still… It's still good, right?"

A smile spreads across Vince's face at Stuart's particular brand of apology. "Get in here." He grabs Stuart around the waist and pulls him into the tub with a big splash.

* * *


	11. Bigots and Bollocks and Bears!  Oh my!

* * *

Of all the many things Stuart has learned about Vince on their trip that he never took the time to notice before, kissing is most definitely his favorite. Vince is a fabulous kisser. The things he can do… make Stuart's toes curl, palms sweat, send shivers down his spine and butterflies in his stomach. How the man could ever have doubted his skill is beyond Stuart. Sadly, he thinks that is something so very Vince.

His _least_ favorite thing would have to be Vince's new-found love of the outdoors. First camping, then that aborted canoe trip, and now… THIS! He's grumbling, not quite under his breath, as he trudges behind Vince, his new hiking boots pinching his feet and slipping on the loose dirt. Hiking? Up a bloody mountain, for Chrissake! With the sun beating down on him and the wind blowing every which way and flies and other pests buzzing round his head, sweat dripping down his face and the only time that is acceptable is when he's dancing or fucking, not scrabbling up the side of a giant bloody boulder with a heavy pack on his back and shoes that are killing his feet, hands scratched from brambles and dirt under his fingernails and not a bloody thing to look at but rocks and trees and stupid, bloody nature…

And there's Vince a few yards ahead of him, smiling that stupid, bloody bright smile, happy as can be. Stuart almost starts laughing at himself, because it's only for that smile that he even agreed to this in the first place. Shaking his head, he reaches into his backpack for his water bottle and loses his footing. "Ow! Fuck!" he shouts so loud, sending a bird flapping out of the shrubbery.

Vince immediately turns back, his face concerned. "Stuart? Are you alright? What happened?"

"I'm fine. I slipped." He kicks a large rock off the trail and watches it bounce down the side of the rocky mountain. Sitting in a rather undignified heap, Stuart takes a long drink from his water, grimaces at the tepid temperature, and pours a little over his head, wetting his hair, droplets clinging and dripping down his face and neck. He darts his eyes to the left and sees Vince slowly lick his lips, mouth slightly open, watching him.

It's been Stuart's goal for months now to, somehow, combine his favorite pastime with Vince's new love. There's nothing like sex out in the open. So far, all attempts have been rebuffed. Vince still gets nervous kissing in public, depending on where they are. On the rare occasion they hit a club in one of the cities they travel through, Vince has no qualms about snogging, groping and general displays of public indecency. However, standing in the queue for Space Mountain at Disneyland is clearly off limits. Stuart wonders what his chances are in the middle of nowhere on top of a real mountain.

Hiding his grin behind his hand, wiping the water and sweat from his face, Stuart sighs. "I don't think I can go much farther, Vince. My feet hurt."

"I warned you about wearing new boots. You need to break them in before they'll do you any good."

Vince's arm goes around him as Stuart leans over, half-nuzzling into Vince's neck. He's sweating, too. Stuart can smell him. He pokes his tongue out and licks a path up from Vince's collar bone to his jaw.

"Stuart! We're sat in the middle of the trail; anyone could come walking by!"

"So?" Leering, he tries to pull Vince closer.

But Vince is wise to the game. "Come on. There's supposed to be a magnificent view just a little ways up from here. And a clearing. We can stop and rest there." He stands and offers Stuart a hand up, with a grin. "It's a bit off the trail."

\---

It's a rock. It's flat. It's blocked from view of the trail. And it's not covered in anything icky. But it's still a rock.

Vince is pressed down onto the hard surface, Stuart all but lying on top of him. There could be a waterfall nearby, the way his blood is roaring in his ears. Still, mostly fully clothed, Stuart is working a hand into Vince's open fly and there's not a thing he can do to stop it. He wouldn't even try at this point, too far gone to care. Vince slides his hands inside Stuart's shorts and around, cupping his arse and pulling him closer. Something cold and heavy slides down and lands next to them on the rock, but neither of them pays any mind.

Until twigs snapping under heavy boots and the sound of feet shuffling their way, getting louder. Someone barks a short cry of surprise and another voice swears loudly, "Fucking sick perverts."

Stuart jerks back from Vince and glares at the intruders. Vince is busy tucking himself back into his clothing and turning peculiar shades of red and purple to even glance in that direction. Paying no heed to his state of undress, khaki shorts hanging dangerously low on his hips, shirt rumpled and half unbuttoned, Stuart slides off the rock and faces the two men that so rudely interrupted him.

He grins at them, feral and deadly. "Sorry, mate. What was that?"

"This here is a public trail. There's families and kids comes through here."

"Well, guess they'd be learning a bit about nature then, wouldn't they?"

"Stuart…" Vince starts, but he can't finish when Stuart flashes a look at him, blue eyes blazing.

"We don't need your kind round here."

And before the sentence is finished, Vince sees the flash of steel, the gun, that stupid gun, in Stuart's hand pointed at the two men. He's on his feet at Stuart's side instantly, panic rising, blood still pumping now raging and Stuart's eyes shine with intensity. Vince opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

"Didn't catch that again. Language barrier. Don't speak 'wanker.'" Stuart's grin widens, leveling the gun. Both men are frozen to the spot, eyes fixed, hands gone up slightly.

Watching the stand-off, Vince's mind runs a mile a minute. 'Oh my god, stupid, bloody git, knew that fucking thing was going to get us into trouble, he won't be able to buy his way out of this one, they find out it's not real, they'll fucking kill us, we'll be beaten to death on the top of a bloody mountain, mum will never find out what happened to me, our bodes will be dragged and dumped in a river or the bloody ocean, eaten by fish! I do NOT want to be eaten by fish or… A bear!'

"Oh my God! Oh my God! Stuart!"

"Vince, it's fine. I've got them."

"But what about that?" He nudges Stuart and points off into the trees a little more than twenty yards away.

As Stuart turns, the other men follow his gaze. A big, brown grizzly bear is lumbering through the trees heading parallel to where they stand. It doesn't appear to have seen them yet, and Vince holds his breath.

"Oh, motherfucker!" one of the men shouts, attracting the bear's attention. It's great hulking body turns in their direction, head tilting to one side and it lets a out a half-hearted growl.

Vince instinctively takes a step back, pulling Stuart with him, until they are slowly moving away, back toward the trail. The gun still raised, Stuart can only stare, mesmerized. The massive beast begins moving toward them, eyes still curiously focused. Stuart's breath hitches and his hands shake. He bumps backward into one of the men and feels a hand on his arm.

"Shoot it! Shoot it!" the short one yells.

"What?" Vince turns to the man, indignantly. "We're not going to shoot a bear."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Just fucking shoot it!" He tries to grab the gun from Stuart's hand but he pulls back.

"It's not fucking real, you stupid twat!"

Ignoring this, the man tries to grab for the gun again and Stuart argues with him. Vince never takes his eyes off the bear. It gets bored with them and turns away, disappearing back through the trees.

"Wow. I wish we had a camera."

* * *


End file.
